Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
18
CESARE
The docks.
The one place we all knew we had to stake a claim to from day one.
At the very least, we needed a foothold.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew several crews had been operating there, long before we turned up that night. They all wanted—and had—a piece of the action. Whether they’d been smuggling in drugs, weapons or exotic cars, they had been using the docks. So, outsiders wouldn’t be welcome.
To that end, I had brought my entire crew there. We were eight, instead of three. More firepower meant that rival groups would think twice about opening fire. Facing eight armed men was much harder than facing three. Of course, this was just me and my theories. Reality could be a lot different. It was all a matter of power. Whoever wanted it, they had to go after it. The ones who had it, would not let go that easily.
In any case, I wasn’t so worried about the outcome of that night’s work.
The way I saw it, the hardest part was over. We had more than seven million in our disposal. It was plenty for us to get started. It was more than enough to buy at least three gun shipments at once. By selling those guns, we would make more and invest it again. That cycle would repeat itself and stuff our pockets with cash. This was the whole point of us sticking our necks out. This was why Matteo had decided to go Cesare Bauer on the two thugs that were about to crush me and Leonardo to death.
Elizabeth III was one ugly ship.
Docked just twenty yards from my spot, I could make out plenty of nasty details about her. It had been years since that dark-blue paint on either side was applied. Sunlight and humidity had turned into a pale shade of gray. The red around the prow and its stern had turned into a light shade of brown. Just over its hull and near the middle, rust had been splashed across the metal.
But none of us was interested in that old pile of scrap.
It was its contents that had brought us there.
In particular, container four-three-five.
A forklift driver setting it down, the ground shook for a split second under the weight of that container. Putting the forklift in reverse, its wheels sent bits of gravel back and past my spot. I waited for him to disappear back in the cargo hold of Elizabeth III, my gaze on the huge, red box across from me.
“Matteo, do the honors,” I told my friend, a raindrop landing on the top of my head. More raindrops falling around us, he sat on his knees in front of the container. He gripped the bottom latch and yanked it up, its grinding noise overshadowing the distant sound of that forklift.
“Yeah, baby,” Matteo whistled at the view, before turning his head right to face Felix. “Get over here, man.”
“Details,” I said, somewhat annoyed by their silence.
“It’s all here,” Matteo announced, his back still to me. “Rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers and their ammo. Cesare,” he paused and looked back at me. “I’ll have to check the manifest, but it looks like the shipment’s full.”
At that point, our attention was drawn to a loud rumble from the west. All eight heads turned in the direction of two, black SUVs, their headlights cutting through the darkness of the docks.
“Cops?” I murmured to Leonardo next to me.
“No way. I paid them off this afternoon.”
“Hold your fire,” I ordered, raising my arm in the air. I walked off in the direction of those cars, wondering just who the hell we were dealing with. Those two Cherokees pulling up next to one another, the passenger in the front one stepped out. He was a 5’10” Latino in a black, sleeveless tee and gray pants, with a large tattoo of a tiger’s face on his right shoulder.
“Which one of you gringos is in charge here?” He asked, looking around at my men.
“I must have missed the part where you gave me your name,” I said, my slow footsteps closing the gaps between us.
“Big gringo with an attitude, huh?” He scowled, smiling over at his driver. “Oh, I’m shaking,” he added, his entire body trembling in fake fear. “You and your little bitches ought to get the fuck out of here, ese. This ain’t your turf.”
“Or else?”
At that, his expression got even more sullen than it was. He shifted his gaze over to the container, before starting off back to the SUV. He slammed the passenger door shut, the car next to his rolling forward. A man in a similar outfit popped through its sunroof and leaned his arm on the aluminum roof. My eyes went wide as I spotted the weapon in his grasp. It was a long tube with a scope in the middle.